Sigh No More
by TearoToHero
Summary: High School AU. Castiel is new to town, as is the strangely kind Sam Winchester who does his best, despite Cas' ingrained awkwardness, to make him a friend. Victim to the popular and cruel, Cas finds himself being saved by an unlikely source; Dean Winchester, only to return home to find the brother he hasn't seen in years. Gabriel's back, Cas stutters, Dean protects, Sam comforts.


Glancing down into his lap as his mother babbled on about what a brilliant opportunity this school could be for him, Castiel did all he could to still his trembling hands and build up some kind of enthusiasm. It would be the third time in all his seventeen years that he had to start completely anew, but something about it being both a new country _and _a new school dampened on the idea that this time he could reinvent himself, be something special, break away from the reputation that had gotten him kicked into the dirt before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, however, Castiel knew this would be just like the others. Only now he didn't have his father for a morale boost at the end of the day; he was stuck with a single mother and brothers who could barely bring themselves to call once and a while.

A loud bell roused him from his thoughts, eliciting an excited babble of "It's time, good luck, you'll make so many friends!" from his mother, who he desperately tried to force a smile for. She seemed to take his reluctance in her stride as she urged him out of the car and into the mass of students arriving to serve time at Kripke High.

Goths, nerds, jocks, preps, the occasional cosplayer... He had seen them all before, and yet, this group seemed more at ease with their differences than the kids he grew up with. Maybe at Kripke, it wasn't so frowned upon to be different, to be yourself. Castiel certainly hoped so, because he didn't look like he'd fit in with any of them. He was just Castiel; the boy with the scruffy hair, too-big trench coat and a lipstick stain from a goodbye kiss on his left cheek. It didn't help matters that every time he spoke he stuttered, flushed red, and had to take a minute to try and calm himself down. All the speech therapy in the world couldn't give him confidence enough to get over that first hurdle; the only time he could ever speak without erring was with his precious cat, Jimmy. Just the thought of the faithful tabby was enough to bring the beginnings of a smile to his face.

"Hey, kid, watch it!" A girl with masses of dark hair and an expensive looking manicure scowled and pushed him out of her way. She was stronger than Castiel – it didn't take much – and the force of the shove was enough to knock him sidelong into another student.

"I'm s-s-sorry," he mumbled, diverting his attention to the smart black shoes his mother insisted he wear. Castiel could feel his face reddening, his breathing speeding up in panic as he side-stepped to try and evade getting into anyone else's way.

He could swear he heard laughter, and a lot of it, as he tried to scurry indoors after the flow of students had slowed down a little. Thanks to a visit the week prior, he already had his class-schedule, map, and had completed the necessary paperwork to attend. A small miracle, at least. Castiel was glad not to have to find his way to the office amongst the chaos, and it didn't hurt that he had spent the weekend studying the school map until he could see it with his eyes closed. Same with his schedule; better to be prepared than ask and be mocked, as he knew all too well just how cruel kids could be.

Heavy, purposeful footsteps behind him made the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stand on end, a sudden onslaught of nerves embracing his wiry frame. "Hey, uh...?" A surprisingly gentle tap on his shoulder brought Castiel to a stand-still, waiting for whoever had spoken to bark some order or take a swing from him.

_No, _he chided himself mentally, _they don't know you yet. Don't jump to conclusions, it's rude. _The voice in Castiel's head was the deep, commanding tone of his father that he so longed to hear, and not just on the old home videos kept in a box under his bed.

"Excuse me?" Whoever it was tapped again, and Castiel winced as he heard shuffling footsteps as a large, gangly boy came into his line of sight. Over-long brown hair tumbled over a handsome, if slightly goofy, face. At least this stranger didn't appear outright intimidating, it was more of a subtly overbearing lankiness, Castiel concluded.

"Y-yes?"

The stranger blinked slowly, as if taking in Castiel's odd appearance before he decided to speak again. Startling the smaller boy, he offered a hand to be shaken. "Sam Winchester," he introduced himself, flashing a half-smile. "Sorry for bothering you, but I don't suppose you know the way to Room 809, do you?"

"Oh, uh, uh..." Castiel shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat to try and keep Sam from noticing them shake by his sides. _He's probably more scared of you than you are of him, _his father's voice soothed, _play nice, he might be important later. _Important? Castiel tilted his head to the side in confusion, his blue gaze coming to rest on the minimal space between his and Sam's shoes. Sam, he noted, wore scruffy boots with his jeans.

"You okay?" Sam raised a brow, glancing around to see if everyone was just as odd as the boy he'd approached.

Castiel slowly exhaled, slumping his shoulders in an endeavour to appear relaxed, maybe a little aloof. The next words that came from his mouth were in a low, scratchy voice as he tried desperately to imitate his father. "I-I'm going that- that way n-n-now."

Sam cleared his throat to evade an unnecessary laugh – the habit of laughing when he found himself uncomfortable was a trouble owed entirely to his elder brother. Dean would always crack a joke, make a comparison, to make Sam feel better in such times, so now he was stuck with the consequences. "Cool." After a dragged out silence, he said, "I always get sick during school, too, like I'm allergic or something. You want a lozenge?"

Tomato red from embarrassment, but too proud to admit that he'd been trying to act cool, Castiel forced himself to answer in the same imitation. "No. I'm n-not sick."

"Right." Sam looked sceptical, but had the good sense to drop it before any real trouble started. Shrugging his broad shoulders in dismissal, he gestured ahead with a flick of his wrist. "Should we get going? Don't wanna be late."

Castiel nodded silently, a little pleased to hear the reluctance in Sam's tone. Maybe, he figured, he could find a friend in this boy, or at least an acquaintance.

The silence seemed to bother Sam, Castiel could tell by the way he fidgeted with the fraying hem of his jacket as they walked. He also noticed it appeared to be a little too small, too short on those long arms. In observation, at least, Castiel was completely comfortable. He liked to watch people, to get to know them from afar, they were positively fascinating until he had to talk to them.

"So," Sam said as they rounded a corner. "Where you from? Accent isn't from around here, right?"

"Uh..." Squeezing his eyes shut a moment and relying on his memory of the map to guide them, Castiel hesitated to reply, "England. C-Cambridge, originally. We, uh, m-me and my mother w-w-we moved here n-not long ago." While he had been unwilling to reveal much about himself, there was always the bad habit of spurting facts like a walking encyclopedia to contend with. Castiel's father had insisted he be intellectual, had claimed that trait to be superior to social skills and humour. Those were supposed to be natural, but he had never really minded that God neglected to share those talents with him. They would have gone to waste anyway.

"Cool." Sam offered an attempt at a friendly grin. "Me and my brother get around a lot, it comes with his job. I don't think we'll be here very long. Maybe a month or so."

Castiel nodded, falling back into silence as he nodded his head toward the door the two of them were closing in on. He was glad to have arrived, both because it meant his navigation stills were still on point, and he no longer had to face the daunting prospect of conversation.

* * *

The last bell of the day rained a parade of metaphorical sunshine all over Castiel. He was so proud of himself for making it through without any real incidents. Sure, there had been a few laughs when he had been asked to introduce himself, but Sam had gotten mostly the same reaction. Thinking about it, Castiel felt he might owe the Winchester boy for helping him out; the way he had bumbled in home room after Castiel suffered a mini-panic had looked a little too exaggerated to be a whole truth.

"Wait up!"

Hearing Sam's call brought Castiel to a halt, just outside the main doors and metres away from real freedom. At least his mother would be too busy working to come and pick him up, he felt as though that would be the icing on the mocking-cake, a real present to the few who had already picked him out as an easy target. But Sam seemed nice, a little strange, but nice enough that Castiel didn't want to run for the hills.

"H-h-hello, Sam," Castiel greeted in the same deep tone he had managed to hold onto all day. When he reached home, he was sure he'd need hot lemon to soothe his sore throat. He turned slightly to face the other boy, expression flat as ever, but some attempt at a wave to indicate friendliness, however forced it was.

Sam seemed to take it all in his stride, grinning as he adjusted the strap of his bag where it rested on his shoulder. "We made it, huh?"

Managing to meet Sam's eyes just long enough to tell he was mostly putting on a show for his sake – Sam had apparently noticed his struggle with both the school and the people straight away – Castiel nodded. "It w-wasn't as bad as I, uh, I-I thought."

"Right," Sam agreed easily, opening his mouth to continue just as a crowd Castiel had already identified as trouble-makers came rolling past. The girl who had shoved him that morning was present, her arm looped through that of a similarly dressed blonde girl; there was a suave young man clad all in black and radiating menacing charm; a red-head laughing coldly as a very feline boy whispered something into her ear; and a plump, dark-skinned boy too busy blathering into his phone to notice much else.

Dropping his eyes instantly, Castiel stared once again at the polished surface of his shoes. He could hear them already, or so he thought, talking about him. They were saying bad things, horrible things. Sam was laughing with them. Everyone was. His skin itched all over; he couldn't breathe right; brought his hands to cover his ears so he could try and _not _hear them.

Castiel was distantly aware of Sam's hand on his arm as he doubled over, the world spinning as he tried to block them out. Somebody shouted, then Sam's hand was gone. Sam was gone, the ground seemed to shake as the tall boy's footsteps pounded against it. The group he could hear talking, talking and laughing, closed in on Castiel. One of them – he guessed it was the whispering boy – made a comment that soon had them all laughing even harder.

"Kid, you okay?" someone was saying, but Castiel's tongue felt thick and immovable as sandpaper. It was all he could do to keep himself upright by grounding his hands against his knees.

Another comment, another bout of laughter.

"Hey, hey, listen to me," a deep voice spoke into his ear, and for a moment he hoped it was his father, but there was a difference in accent. This person was more gravel than smooth, lulling depth, too.

The group had stopped, forming a semi-circle around Castiel now. As they watched, the red-haired girl spoke up, "Pretty damn weird, right? What's he even doing?"

The dark-haired girl from before laughed the loudest, he could tell it was her by the way it sounded. Like wind-chimes – cold and clear and warning of an oncoming storm. "Choking on the grandpa tie," she replied flatly. "Look, he's going the same colour and everything."

Sam was back, standing in front of Castiel as if to protect him. "Look, just back off." He sounded a lot stronger than before, no longer pretending to struggle for Castiel's sake. "It's not funny."

"C'mon," the voice in Castiel's ear urged, a strong arm wrapping around his back to support him. "Just ignore them, they're jerks anyway." Something in his voice made Castiel think he was angry, though he couldn't place why. The stranger sounded tense, speaking through gritted teeth, though there was something underneath it which sounded almost... comforting.

"What're you gonna do about it, beanpole?" The dark-haired girl taunted Sam, bringing one hand up so she could inspect her nails. "Recite Pi at me?"

"Dammit," Castiel's protector muttered, his grip suddenly gone. "Sam, take this kid home, I'll meet you there."

Sam sighed heavily, his shoes coming back into Castiel's steadily returning line of sight. The more he focused on their voices, the better he started to feel. His breathing was beginning to even itself out as he listened to Sam and the other man, blocking out the snide comments of the others. He could do this. He could ignore them. Sticks and stones, sticks and stones.

"Be careful, Dean," Sam muttered, gripping Castiel's arm and giving him no choice but to follow him away from the scene.

* * *

Sam had half-dragged Castiel several blocks away before he spoke, and even then it sounded forced, unhappy. "You feeling any better?"

Before he answered, Castiel took a moment to try and figure out how he felt at all. His lungs ached a little, it was hard to walk in a straight line, his eyes burned, and he had the single biggest headache he had ever experienced. All things considered, he felt fine. If it weren't for Sam and the man he'd called Dean, he probably would have been sporting enough bruises to be dubbed abstract art by then, and maybe a few cuts for originality. Those kids didn't seem like they'd mind getting blood on their hands.

"I'm, uh, I-I'm okay," he assured quietly, the onslaught of panic cracking his voice as he tried – oh how he tried – not to stutter. "Thanks f-f-f-or h-h-hel-"

Sam didn't let him get any further than that before he nodded, squeezing Castiel's shoulder in what he hoped came off as a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Those guys were being jerks for no reason. There's always kids like that at every school."

Nodding mutely, Castiel reached up to loosen the blue tie around his neck, feeling a little foolish now for wearing it. Suit and tie had been the only things in his wardrobe for the last two years, now they felt closer to skin than clothes, and it hurt more than he thought it would to have them insulted like that.

"I mean," Sam continued obliviously. "It's not like you did anything to them, so it's not your fault. I guess they think you're an easy target, Castiel." After a moment, the taller boy paused to examine his companion thoughtfully. Sensing unease, he tried to change the subject. "Castiel is a strange name, huh?" he prompted, wondering if talking would make the other boy feel even remotely better.

Castiel nodded again. "M-my, uh, my father p-picked it."

Sam wondered why the other boy used such a formal term, not 'dad' like most, but chose not to question it, instead nodding at Castiel to continue. The way he figured, if Castiel was talking, Castiel was breathing.

Unsure what else to say, Castiel chose to babble meaningless information about his family as opposed to making Sam suffer his silence. After all, he owed him for the assistance. "My b-brothers, they have w-w-weird names, uh, t-too. There's G-G-G-Gabriel..." Castiel had to wait before continuing, his breath catching in his throat in unwillingness to say any longer. After an internal pep-talk, he managed to work up the courage to finish his sentence, surprised by Sam's patience. "A-and Balthazar."

"Balthazar?"

Gritting his teeth to try and prevent the startled whimper when Dean's voice assaulted him from behind, Castiel nodded warily. "Y-yes, B-Balthazar."

Sam turned quickly, giving Dean a visual once over. Castiel followed suit, thanking curiosity for the nerve to do so. Dean was a few inches shorter than Sam, his hair much lighter and cut neat and out of the way, and he was wearing what appeared to be a janitor's uniform.

"Castiel this is my brother, Dean," Sam said, gesturing toward the man who, upon closer inspection, was sporting the shadow of a bruise around his right eye. "Dean, this is Castiel."

"Castiel?" Dean repeated gingerly, rolling the name around on his tongue. "Mind if I call you Cas?"

Startled by the question, Castiel found himself nodding before he could think to do otherwise. At least with that agreement, the conversation shifted away from him and back to Dean with Sam's asking, "You get caught?"

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Gee, Sammy, thanks for the confidence in my abilities. Of course I didn't."

"But they'll probably rat you out," Sam reasoned, scowling at the use of the nickname. "So that's _another _job gone."

"Quit whining, mom." Dean groaned. "That was just a day job, it's not like I can't get another. Besides, Bobby doesn't think we'll be around here long, so it doesn't matter either way."

"It kinda does, Dean."

"Does not."

"Does too."

Castiel, throughout the exchange, had been quiet and awkward. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his shoes as he listened to the brothers bicker. Some part of him was longing for that kind of interaction, for either of his brothers to joke and argue with him, to know him well enough to tease and make him smile. They didn't, though, and sensibility told him they never would.

The last conversation he had with Gabriel had ended in tears on his part, and all Gabriel could think to do was call him a baby and tell him to grow up. At twelve years old, that had been a hard thing to hear for Castiel, especially with the way his confidence was lucky if it ever scraped itself up off the floor. All he had wanted was for his oldest brother to come and watch the play he had been forced into, even if he did have no lines.

"Hey, kid?" Dean shook Castiel's shoulder lightly, bringing him back to the present. "I asked where you live, you know, so we can make sure you get back okay."

When Castiel didn't answer, Sam sighed. "We're not stalking you or anything, promise." The brothers smiled in an attempt to reassure him it was a joke, that they weren't bad people and they were, really, only there to help.

Two minutes of silence passed before Dean seemed to get agitated. "Dammit, it's not a hard question, Cas, all we need is an address, not your bank details." Castiel remained silent and began to chew on his lip, so Dean continued. "What, so now you're mute? Christ, Sam, you know how to pick 'em sometimes."

"Leave off, Dean," Sam muttered, glancing down at Castiel, who began to shudder.

In hopes of avoiding more conversation and humiliation, Castiel looked up, trying to place the street they were on. Not far off he could see what looked like the beginnings of a decent looking neighbourhood, so he pointed that way. "Just th-there. I can g-g-g-get h-home myself n-now. Thanks."

Before either Winchester had time to object, Castiel had already taken off.

* * *

It took around an hour for Castiel to find his way back home – his real home – in a neighbourhood much dingier than the one he had indicated to Sam and Dean. In truth, he would have been embarrassed to take them there, to let them know the kind of place his family was stuck with. Though he knew it was hard for his mother to earn enough to keep them going, a small part of him couldn't help but wish they had more than that. Anyway, cities made him nervous, he much preferred being out of the way, somewhere in the country where the biggest bother was forgetting to shut a gate and waking up with a rogue goat in the garden. That was where he felt he belonged.

Fumbling with the keys for a moment, Castiel was immensely relieved when he heard the click of the lock and felt the door knob turn beneath his hand. Straight away the smell of his mother's perfume assaulted his senses, the odd mix of lavender, lemon and cinnamon both familiarly comforting and irritating to his nose. "I'm home," he muttered, the words coming out clean and easy only because he knew nobody was around to hear them. A part of him, however small, was grateful for that. At least when he was alone he could be some semblance of normal.

Castiel dropped his bag by the door, turning and locking it behind him, just in case. His coat was quickly hung up on a peg he'd nailed up himself on the first day they'd arrived, soon followed by the thin blue tie he wore, and his shoes were discarded just beneath them. Being left in suit and socks was an oddly exhilarating feeling when all day was spent being so careful, so guarded and aloof everything had to be perfect.

"Jimmy," he called, hearing the distant 'click' of claws on laminate. A smile spread across his weary features as soon as he spotted his feline companion, scooping him up into his arms. The two of them had always had a kind of bond, Castiel's favourite kind because words were optional, but love was a guarantee. The two of them made their way into the kitchen, Castiel running his fingers over Jimmy's soft fur for comfort. When his ears caught the sound of somebody's breathing, heavy and familiar, Castiel's blood ran cold. He closed his eyes, hoping that cutting off his sight would rid him of the nightmarish image suddenly plaguing him, jabbing at his conscious like a knife in the dark.

Involuntarily, the young man took steps further into the kitchen, his socks on the smooth surface causing him a near-tumble which had his eyes snap open reflexively.

There, at the table, sat a hunched figure in dirtied camouflage and hefty boots, several tears in the material that had worry coursing through Castiel's veins. The man's hair was the same dark brown it had been before, but now it was cut incredibly close to his scalp and matted with dust and dirt, as though he had been rolling in mud. When he turned to regard Castiel, those same whiskey-in-sunlight eyes were there, but now there was something else there. Something haunted.

"Hello, brother," Gabriel muttered.


End file.
